monophobia
by S.J Carter
Summary: Jeremy Gilbert is everything. And the original vampire sleeping by your side, he's the one who's existence should be meaningless. But, all you do is find yourself constantly drawn to him; as if you are a helpless moth and he is and ever burning inferno. —-KolBonnie (and a space between two worlds), mentions of JeremyBonnie


_Le notes: _This is written in second person, set after the s4 finale, and as for the warnings…there might be some infidelity involved. That all depends on whether or not you think that Jeremy and Bonnie are still together (personally, I think that dying classifies as a break up, but hey, that's just me) and mild _sexytimes_ (because Bonnie needs to get _some_). Now, without further ado; on with the show!

_Summary: _Jeremy Gilbert is everything. And the original vampire sleeping by your side, he's the one who's existence should be meaningless. But, all you do is find yourself constantly drawn to him; as if you are a helpless moth and he is and ever burning inferno. —-KolBonnie (and a space between two worlds), mentions of JeremyBonnie

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**._.**

**monophobia**  
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**._.**

"i am terrified of my heart;  
of its constant hunger for what it wants  
the way it stops and starts." —_E.A.P_  
**.**

**/ / /**

Your life is a series of unfortunate events; seventeen some odd years (young, restless, and relentless) all leading up to your very untimely death. It's a shame really; you seriously aren't that bad of a person. You've made your fair share of mistakes by trusting the wrong people at times, taking the wrong decisions from a day to week basis, and made more than enough enemies by sacrificing everything for nothing. Well all right, not exactly _nothing_. Jeremy Gilbert's life is still worth _something_.

Quite possibly, he's _everything._

His smile is the beacon of light beyond the shadows of darkness. His entity carries the aura of an angel passing through the forests of evil. His eyes are pure; honest and innocent, full of life and desire, and love for his sister. Elena Gilbert is only_ one_ of the reasons why you brought Jeremy back and put yourself in his place. Truth be told, even if your best friend still had her humanity off, you'd still give the Gilbert boy the gift of life because one, you seriously love him and would do anything for him, and two, he belongs among the living while you don't.

Honestly, you've felt this ominous darkness trying to swallow you whole, before Silas, even before Shane came along. It's the expression magic telling you that you are a _witch_. Not only that, you are a sorceress; dark, obscure, and diseased. But powerful nonetheless (perhaps even, too powerful for this world alone).

You are the night while Jeremy Gilbert is the day. The moon while he is the sun. Which is why you have offered him a chance to walk amongst his fellow angels, while you are right where you belong, with evil surrounding your limbs.

Jeremy Gilbert is all that is good, honest, and kind to the bone.

While you feel as though you are a sinner; utilizing this tabooed magic, being unable to protect your loved ones, and dying in vain at the end of it all.

Of course, the original vampire sleeping by your side, he's the one who's existence should be meaningless. For he is not only cocky, rude, annoying, bratty, and immature, but he is also malicious, and chaotic (in every way possible). And yet, all you do is find yourself constantly drawn to him; as if you are a helpless moth and he is and ever burning inferno.

Kol Mikaelson, you see, he's unlike any boy you've ever met.

He's not Luka, because well, Luka was an ass who used you for his father's idiotic plans (you choose not to be very articulate about it since it is pretty self-explanatory and besides, do you really want to be reminded of someone who didn't care much for you anyway?). Most definitely, Kol is not Jamie, because Jamie was sweet, gentle, innocent and well…your s_tep-brother_ so yeah, that _had _to end. Shane was a phase (a very stupid phase) because every girl goes through that _im-into-older-guys _stage. And Jeremy was one of the good ones of course, then he died, and then you died, and then he lived.

Compared to them, Kol Mikaelson really is the alpha amongst the wolves; strong, powerful, immortal.

And certainly—

_"I can make you feel things Bonnie Bennett; move your heart and soul"_

His voice is like a plague, infecting your mind and body, and never leaving you alone.

_"While _he _can't even lay a kiss upon your hand."_

His touch is bacterial; lethal and poisonous, like opium down your throat. And yet, skin-to-skin contact has become nothing but a luxury for you, so you find yourself hesitating before you reject him completely.

_"What are you waiting for, little witch?"_

You don't know, you really don't fucking know. But you're scared shitless that you'll find out.

**.**

**/ / /**

You used to talk to Jeremy on a day to day basis. At first, it really wasn't all that difficult. It's unexpected, but your conversations are as natural as always; questions about school and family, how he's adjusting to life, why Stefan is acting so weird, and how nauseating Elena and Damon can be. It progressively gets harder and harder. Mostly, because Jeremy sometimes lets it slip that he wants to switch places, that life is not worth living unless it's a life with you.

Quite possibly, you find his so-called unselfish words to be very irritating. After all, you are the one who risked everything for him and now, here he is, unappreciative and withdrawn. You understand that it can't be easy for him; he's supposed to be dead. But, you can't always be this cooperative and flawless being, even you have your moments (and need that time to let loose).

Evidently, this is when Kol Mikaelson finds you.

At your lowest.

"Didn't know so much liquor was available on the other side."

Again, his voice is the worst and, you swear that if he weren't so fucking good with his hands, you'd probably stir-fry his ass (or kick him all the way to Jupiter). Of course, let's not forget that you are as hammered as one can be, so you actually have the nerve to tell an original vampire to "put a sock in it."

He raises a brow, a haunting gaze resting on your face. And yeah, you really should know better than to piss off an original. However, he knows that you are Bonnie Bennett; strong and weak, foolish and smart, pretty and ugly, a walking and talking contradiction who will stand up to him no matter the consequences.

Besides, what can he actually do? You're both already dead, aren't you?

"Miss Bennett, exactly how drunk are you, at this moment?"

You don't know why he's asking. It sounds like a stupid question, to be quite frank. Like he's asking for permission, and you know better (better than anyone) that he would never ask for anyone's permission, let alone yours.

"Leave me alone, Kol." You tell him, holding your head between your hands as you try to breathe properly. It's really difficult for you, at the moment, because you see; Kol does this weird thing to your heart. He makes it…bounce, with just one look. Maybe it's an original thing. Or a Kol thing. Either way, you come to the conclusion that you are afraid of your heart; of all the things that it wants or wanted or is scared of wanting since.

"Oh c'mon now darling," he lays a hand on your shoulder. You can't hold back your sigh of relief; it has been a long _long _time since you've been touched. Surprisingly, his hand feels friendly, as if he is a long lost brother or a son. And he is those two things, all at once. Sometimes you forget.

He used to be human too.

"You do know that there is no use lying to me. I am quite aware of the fact that you thoroughly enjoy my company." He laughs to himself, looking at you from the corner of his eye. "Quite frankly, I don't know of one person who doesn't."

You scoff in his presence. "I could name a few."

This is your mistake: you poke fun at a man who's intentions are never pure. This is his: he pins an all-powerful witch to the floor, raising your hands over your head and kneeing your legs apart.

He smirks as you're in the perfect position to be fucked.

"You're challenging me, Miss Bennett." He tells you, noticing the way your breath catches when he lays his hands on you. He sees the goosebumps on your skin, sends that shiver down your spine, sparks a fire in your belly, and ignites a heat between your thighs—

His eyes linger on the skin over your throat.

"And you know all about how much I love to be challenged." You don't say anything at all as he speaks, mostly because your words are caught between your tongue and your teeth. At the moment, you fail to complete coherent sentences as your thoughts are a mess inside your heart. Hopelessly, you feel like a helpless little girl. You are a witch for Christ's sake, what in the world is stopping you from giving this vampire several aneurysms?

"I wonder…_little witch_," his nose lightly presses against yours before you can cast a single spell on him, "how much time have you spent thinking about my hands on your hips? My lips on your skin—"

"Stop—"

"My tongue on your—"

"I said stop!"

"My fingers down your—"

"Be quiet!"

And he is gone when you push him away.

You fail to see the small grin that pulls at his lips as you get to your feet.

**.**

**/ / /**

You can hazily bring back the memory of your first kiss with him. It's some time ago, not too long ago but, it's been long enough. Enough time for you to find out that he's had centuries of experience and well, you haven't had much. Not really, at least, not compared to him. You recall the fact that many aspects of the kiss caught you off-guard. For starters, it didn't taste the least bit lethal or malicious (your presumptions about this boy were proven to be wrong). The kiss tasted sweet; nothing quite as heated or passionate as you had first thought. Not that you'd ever thought about kissing him before this very moment of weakness. You remember being clumsy; lips and skin and confusion and feelings of loneliness and anger which swallowed you whole. Inside, you've been dying a little every day since then in an attempt to forget. You hated yourself for letting him in; for being weak. You hate the way you fall apart beneath him; so easily and restlessly, with just a few strokes.

However, you can't help the fact that you shiver violently during the nights.

You're cold.

No matter how tightly your curl yourself in to a ball at night, or how dearly grandmamma holds you as you sleep. No matter how much closer you're bringing the sheets to your skin, or how hard you try to slumber underneath the light of day before it fades away, it's just no use.

You're as chilling as the breath of death.

**.**

**/ / /**

But, you're not always cold.

Sometimes, on some rare nights, there is a boy (a man?) with charcoal stained hairs and chestnut colored irises. With skin that touches yours so delicately and you swear, it feels as if he is made of soft prayers or dim lights. He's wearing a smile (almost always, which is sort of a good thing because you're really tired of seeing people frown), but it's wicked and sinful; reminding you of an image of blood collared around an olive green neck and braceleting around your wrists. Strangely, the scene seemed a bit familiar. The boy's arms are strong and have a warm hold. He is hot, as hot as fire at times, like an undying flame, ever-rising and ever-burning. A phoenix. And with that, you wonder how nice it would be to always feel like the sun.

**.**

**/ / /**

_"Sweetheart,"_

_"darling,"_

_"little witch,"_

He calls you, as his fingers would ghost over your thighs, drawing a path down your legs and in between. He rarely calls you by your name but, when he does, you sometimes feel as though you cannot handle the way his accent curls around the word. It's as if he is doing all of it on purpose; the teasing, the taunting, the constant reminder that he is not whom you think he is—

_"Tell me Bonnie,"_ he snaps your buttons open, faster and swifter than any being you've ever known. _"Do you enjoy being a sacrificial lamb? A scapegoat for your so-called friends?" _His touches are quick, but they hit all the right spots; bruising your ribs and legs, neck and collar, the skin over your heart and the flesh of your forearms. Although, it's his words which manage to burn you deeper than any wound he could ever physically inflict on you.

"If this is your idea of dirty talking," you begin, finding your hands in his hair as you pull him off of you, "then I suggest you change the topic. Because if you expect to turn me on, I'm afraid that it's not working. These 'questions' of yours are having quite the opposite effect on me, Kol."

He touches his fang with his tongue, looking to you with lust swirling in his irises. "Is that so?" He questions, curling a finger in to your hair.

"Yes." You reply, almost a bit too confident in your own tone. For an instant, you think yourself the victor, because Kol is caught off-guard. Since, while you're talking, he has ceased to leave a trail of hot kisses down your shoulder. He hasn't been touching that special spot underneath your breast bone (which makes your breath hitch and your pulse race). He's stopped letting his fingers hover over the dip of your collarbone and honestly, you just can't take it anymore.

It takes you a while but you flip him over. Your fingers clasp his wrists and you swear that you're strong enough to break the delicate skin over his hands. Shatter it like glass. And you could, he knows this too.

But you choose not to. This is your mistake.

As always, he's smiling.

You don't know why you find it comforting. Perhaps because, for a moment,

_(Sacrificial lamb, Scapegoat, Died in vain_—)

he makes you forget.

And for now, that is enough. Or at least, that's what you manage to tell yourself so that you can sleep at night (not that you do much of that either, considering how much time you give to the demon in between your sheets).

**.**

**/ / /**

In the end, no matter which way you turn, left or right, up or down, even if you cut corners or find a short cut through the forbidden woods, you will always (forever) end up alone. As a result, you really can't put all the blame on Kol; it's not about him at all. It's about you; the constant pressure coming at you from all ends to _do the right thing _and _save everybody's ass_. It's about your death; which you never imagined at only seventeen (eighteen?) years of age. It's about how much you try to be alarmingly close to Elena or Caroline…but, your fingers just go right through them.

You think about graduation, college, dorms, parties, drinks, campuses, sights, laughs, and friendships you can never have. The memories you have yet to make live on in your dreams but, they weren't enough for you. You blame yourself and try to block out your sorrows as much as you can.

Nothing really seems to work for too long.

**.**

**/ / /**

You watch Jeremy break, you watch him fight, and you watch him fall.

All you can do is watch; with faded eyes and a ghostly figure. You feel helpless, as if you are a witness to a crime which no one would dare to report.

**.**

**/ / /**

The madness of an autumn wind passed through you on the nights he chooses to find you. Gust after gust of disorder; shadows lengthened along the horizon, temperatures falling, trees dancing. It seemed quite fitting, really.

You _feel _rather than hear his entrance. His presence is God-like, at times but you can't describe it any other way. For you are victimized by your own mind; with your sanity turning against you. Reasoning and logic has left your mind behind.

Yet, he holds you close and says this; "I wish you wouldn't think me so heartless, Bonnie." Fingers weave themselves in to your hair, his touch is soft now (as delicate as a feather, as quiet as a whisper). "I want you to know that you are not alone."

You can't ignore the blood going through your veins and the heart palpitations you get upon encountering him. It's his words, it's always his damn words that manage to bruise you break you, and build you back up.

_"You're never alone."_

He goes against everything you believe in (every single statement you've been telling yourself this entire time). You have the strange urge to cry right now, and you really don't want to show any signs of weakness right now. So, instead you let his arms wrap around your figure so tightly that you think you can hear your bones start to crack.

You think that he must be lonely too.

You know this because underneath the moonlight, you can hear him mumbling in his sleep. He speaks of a sister whom he loves and misses dearly, of a father who didn't care but he loved him nonetheless, of a mother who tried to end him (he would have forgiven her, her says, eventually). He mourns for his brothers and thinks of his regrets.

Consequently, if _this _is what he needs to be okay again, then you think you can offer him all that he is searching for.

The pain soon turns in to numbness.

You don't mind it, very much.

Letting your hands rest on his back, you realize that you feel_ everything_. The way his chest rises and falls with his breaths, the way his hairs cobweb down his skin and stand on end. He takes your mind away from your body with the way his hands grip your hips. You finally find you're release. For nothing but a second, for a fleeting little moment, nothing hurts, nothing screams and nothing matters.

You fall in to a deep slumber; a dreamless night impatiently awaits you.

**.**

**/ / /**

Sometimes though, when the moon is high up in the sky, and the rain is falling heavily, you do end up dreaming regardless of your sins. For the most of it, you do dream of horror; nothing with light or sparkles or miracles. Your dreams are always sinister; quick images of blood, death, gore and guts. There is fighting, killing, and even broken necks of people you've met, people you've loved and lost, and people whom you have yet to meet.

Afterwards, you see yourself; a haunting reflection in a glass window.

You release a horrifying shriek when you see a corpse that you recognize and blood on your hands.

**.**

**/ / /**

(You wake up _screaming_).

**.**

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**End**

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**.**

_Le more notes: _A couple of things, one I know I made Bonnie Ooc but that was kind of the intention. I wanted to play with the fact that she's on the otherside and accentuate the bit about solitude (because I feel like the otherside can be quite lonely). Also, if anyone's wondering about the significance of the title, I'm pretty sure that it stands for a phobia of being alone (which I think is fitting for this story). I do wanna write more Kennett but I tend to blank out at times, so if you have any requests, feel free to leave them! I'm thinking about doing a sequel to this because if feels somewhat incomplete.

And make sure to follow me on tumblr! I like to make pretty graphics! The link is on my profile!

—**_Xoxo Carter_**


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